My Car Chase My Stages Of Grief
by She'sAManiac
Summary: Idiopathic Pulmonary Fibrosis. That’s what my doctor called it, and it’s what I call it, but really it’s a corruption of the lungs. JDOX, JDA, some DCA.
1. Prologue

**Note-Yes, I know it's yet another "JD's dying" fic, but I got this idea in my head and it wouldn't leave till I wrote it down. Plus, you voted for it! Oh, and for anyone reading "My Very Odd Week", I've given up on it for a little bit because I had severe writers block. Sorry!**

**Disclaimer-I own Dr Anna Spencer. Big whoop? No? Ok…**

I'm dying.

Blunt, I know, but it's a slow process, death. People think of it as being that certain time period, be it a moment or a year, when you realize that you're going to die soon. But really, from the moment you're born your body is constantly changing, altering, ageing, leading up to that godforsaken moment when your body shuts down completely. It just switches off, like a light, in the blink of an eye. That's what scares me so much about dying. It's not the pain, or the not knowing what comes next. It's the fact that it's so sudden. There's no time to reflect, or to say anything. People expect you to do all that beforehand, but you never know how much time you have. I had a patient once who said "I'm not afraid of death; it's the waiting I can't stand". Well, I'm the opposite. For me, the waiting is the best part.

Idiopathic Pulmonary Fibrosis. That's what my doctor called it, and it's what I call it, but really it's a corruption of the lungs. As a doctor, I know that forty thousand Americans are diagnosed with it per year. But when it comes to you…well, it still comes as a complete shock.

"Mr. Dorian?"

I look up at the woman sitting cross-legged in front of me. She's quite pretty really, but she's wearing a moss-coloured skirt and a grey cardigan, which rather takes away from a striking face. This is Anna Spencer, and no, she's not my girlfriend. She's my therapist.

"Yeah?" I respond. My throat feels dry, like sandpaper.

"You ok?" she asks, genuinely concerned.

"I guess…" I mutter, my voice barely over a dry whisper.

"Great! I just need to fill out a file, so if you could just answer a few questions that would be great. Ok, name?"

She already knows my name.

"John Michael Dorian"

"Age?"

"Thirty three"

Questions, questions, repetition, repetition…

"Profession?"

"Attending physician in internal medicine"

"Name of doctor?"

"Dr Doris"

"Name of hospital you're being treated at?"

"St. Peregrine's"

"Ok, shall we get started?" she says, jotting down a few notes on her clipboard. I nod, even though I would much rather not. She wants to ask questions and for me to reply. She wants to check my psychological state, to make sure I'm not mentally breaking down. Which I am, I'm just good at covering up. She's concerned, but then again, she's being paid a lot of money to be. But who am I to complain?

We sit for an hour. She probes me for answers, and I unwillingly give them up. But really, what does she expect? Does she honestly think I'm going to say "Oh yeah, I'm dying, but you know, I feel great, it's the best thing that's ever happened to me"? Then the hours up, and I slowly drive Sasha back home.

Back at the apartment, I sit and watch the clock, counting seconds, minutes, hours. The hourly chime echoes with my own distant heartbeat. Repetition, replication, reiteration, always the same…

Then the reality of the situation hits me. I need to tell someone. Instinctively, I pick up the phone and punch in the most familiar number. There are four rings before the other speaker picks up.

"_Hello?_"

"Hey, Brown Bear"

"_J-Dawg! Whassup, man? You weren't in today!_"

"Yeah, I was ill…"

"_You sound kinda rough…_"

"Um, Turk…I dunno how to put this, but…

"_Ooh, gotta go, Carla's getting feisty, know what I'm saying?_"

"I hear you, CB"

The line goes dead, and I put the phone down with shaking hands. Could Turk really handle this? I mean, he can barely handle brain freeze, let alone my…well, death. No need to skirt around the edges. I mean, come on, I'm not Elliot! Elliot? No. I can picture that and it isn't pretty. Carla? Maybe…she's a good sick nurse, but could she really cope with the whole "I'm dying" thing. After all, when her mom died she blamed Turk…I wonder how my mom is, I should call her. Dan? He'd bring the cake a month early and sit in the tub till the "big day". Which leaves one person…


	2. My Overkill: JD

**Note-Ok, this is a long author's note to tell you a little about this story. This story is mostly from JD's POV, with a few chapters from Cox as well. Now, don't get me wrong, it's not a songfic story, but each chapter is based loosely on a song. Some of these songs you may think "OMG, she **_**likes**_** that?", but really, I don't like every song I'm using. Some may have even been used in Scrubs before. I'm aiming for 10 chapters, but will probably end up with about 7. Set post-season 7, pre-season 8. Anyway, thanks for reviews, and on with the show! Sorry for any OOCness.**

**Song: Overkill by Colin Hay**

There's no point trying to sleep tonight. The world's a blur, and I can't really make sense of anything I have to do. I've already sent my friends an email; a pixilated lie. I've told them I had to go home to Ohio for a "family crisis". Or something along those lines; I wasn't quite sure of what I was writing, even while I was writing it. I can't face them, of course. I can't look them in the eye and tell them, because I'm scared of their reactions. It's almost laughable, really. The doctor scared of death.

Lying here, I keep trying to convince myself that I'm ok, but whenever I'm finally about to drop off, something pops back into my mind that snaps my eyes open. There's always something. Some implication that I've dived in too deep, and made my decisions too quickly. Either that, or I suddenly remember some complication, and then dismiss it again because it's already taken care of. I guess it's something about the darkness of the night that makes you think like this, because I'm fairly sure I'm ok. For the next three months, anyway.

I lie there, in my bed, as the clock ticks on reluctantly. I'm obviously not tired enough, because I only went to bed around eight, but it's already ten now. And I always get a little anxious when I can't sleep. Exasperated, I swing my legs out of bed and pace around the apartment. But still nothing. So I pull on a top and some jeans, and leave the apartment. I make my way down the stairs, and out of the lobby into the street.

The night is cold, and the crisp wind stings my cheeks. But I feel almost desperately refreshed after so long in the stuffy bedroom. It's as dark a night as you can get round here. But at least the streetlights are pretty; casting an orange glow like a spotlight where I stand. The streets are fairly empty for a Thursday night. I wander aimlessly through town, exhilarated enough to not care where I'm going, but cautious enough to make sure I'm not in any unfamiliar streets. Then, suddenly, I stop. I look up at the buildings, and realize that I recognize where I am, and that I've been unconsciously making my way here the whole night.

I enter the apartment block, and almost run up the stairs, skipping two at a time. Then I reach the door. I stare at it for a few minutes while I regain my breath. Then I press the doorbell. After a short pause, the door opens. And there she is, rubbing her sleepy eyes. The background is warm, and full of light, and my heart swells for a minute. Then…

"Well lookie here, it's Sally No-Chin!" Jordan says in tired surprise. "What do you want?"

My throat clogs as I try to speak.

"I-Is Dr Cox here?" I stuttered dryly. She shoots me an odd look, and for a heart-stopping minute, I imagine the pain of rejection. Then, with a swift motion of her head, she nods me in. I step into the apartment I barely know yet seems so familiar, and the door clicks shut behind me. I suddenly feel so trapped.

"He's in the back" Jordan says briefly, and then heads off, probably to her bed. I take a deep breath, and step through. The room is as cold as I remember it. And there he is, on the couch, sipping a scotch. For a moment, he looks peaceful. Then he looks up at me, and flashes of surprise and annoyance collide in his hard eyes.

"Newbie?" he snaps. "What in God's name are you doing here?"

"Um…I don't really know…" I mutter. Then, hearing how pathetic that sounds, I shake my head and try again. "Um, yes I do! Dr Cox, can I…talk to you for a second?"

I almost grit my teeth as he stares at me. But luck is on my side again, because he motions for me to sit down in the chair opposite him. Relieved, I sit. I nervously shift my feet. How do you even begin to go around doing this?

"Newbie, you better say something and it better be re-heally important or you will be out on your ass before you can say appletinis!" he says. I take a deep breath. Ok, JD. You can do this. Anyway, what can he do? What's the worst thing that could happen?

"I'm going to Trotwood for a few days for a family crisis" I blurt.

Ok, that's the worst thing that could happen.

"You came over here at this hour to tell me that?" he says quietly. His fists clench, and I can imagine them around my neck if I don't do something soon.

"I might be a while!" I add quickly. "And I was just wondering if you could cover one of my patients for me?"

"Which one, Fiona?"

"Lucy Davids. Teenage suicide…" Damn it, JD, out of all your patients you had to pick her! She's screwed up enough without Mr. Look-at-me treating her…

"Fine. I'll look after her. Now get out of here!"

I soon find myself back on the street again. I sigh to myself. I can't do it. I can't tell him. He'll probably be happy when I've gone. A gentle rain has started up, and it falls softly onto my face, sticking my hair to my scalp. And, for the first time in ages, I couldn't care less about my hair; about anything. By the time I get home to my apartment, it's five past midnight. I lie in my bed, and try to regain lost sleep. But the whole glorious cycle of earlier just begins again, and I can tell it'll take a while before I can have a good, long sleep. It's just going to reappear, day after day. Oh well. I'll be able to sleep as long as I want soon enough.

I must drop off at some point, because when I open my eyes again, daylight is flooding through my windows. I look at the clock beside my bed, and I read ten thirty six. At first I start, and my heart leaps into my mouth. Then I realize that I'm not late, because I'm not even going into work. I flop back down on my bed again, breathing heavily. I try to get up again, but end up falling sideways on the floor because I'm so tangled up in my covers. Then I untangle myself, and drag myself into the living room. I make some cereal, and eat it. The crunch of the flakes seems so loud, and they scratch my throat. Then I sit on my couch, and wonder what the hell I'm going to do with my day. Then an idea hits me. I get up, rush over to the desk, and snatch a piece of paper out of the printer and a pencil. Then I sit down on the couch and write. Then I scrunch it up and through it into the bin. Then, four efforts later, I come up with this:

_Ok…I don't really know why I'm doing this. First, I'm sorry I didn't tell you about this before. I just didn't want you to get worried, I guess. But anyway. I hope one of you finds this instead of the paramedics…damn, this is hard. Ok. Turk and Carla. I love you guys dearly, you were always there for me, and I know you'll live happily ever after, even without me. So I want you to have the apartment. Sell it, and get a bigger house where Izzy can grow up. And, I'm sorry Carla, but Turk can have Steven. Elliot. I'm sorry things never quite worked out between us. I wish they could have…I hope you find someone great, better than I was, because you really deserve it. I want you to have whatever I have that you want, money included. If you ask the Janitor, he's got my pin. Kim. Just make sure Sammy grows up well. You're a great mom, even if things didn't work out like they should have. Tell him I love him. Make sure he grows up knowing my friends like he would've done if I was still here. Dr Cox. Screw you. You weren't there for me when I needed you. As you would say, blow it out your ass. Everyone else, I love you. I really do. Love, JD._

I sigh. It's not the best draft, but I really couldn't care less. I'll be dead when they find it anyway. I fold up the paper, and slide it into my pocket. It's then that the banging starts at my door; a loud thumping, accompanied by only a few grunts. I cower into the couch, as the wood begins to splinter. Then, with an almighty crack, the lock snaps, and the door opens up. Someone is standing there, panting.

"Dr Cox!" I yell.

"What in God's name do you think you're doing?"

"Um…sitting on the couch thinking I was being robbed?" I offer.

"I've been knocking for ten minutes!"

I bite my lip guiltily. I hadn't noticed.

"Damn it, Newbie!" my mentor says, and slams the door back. "I thought you were in trouble or something!"

"Why would I be in trouble?"

"Trotwood? Yeah right! You never go to family emergencies! Anyway, last night you seemed like you wanted to tell me something, but you weren't sure. Then a teenage suicide patient…what was I supposed to think?"

"Wait…you thought I was suicidal?" Well, close…

"Yes! Shit…so I've been pounding at your door for ten minutes trying to get you to open up!"

"I'm sorry. I was…lost in thought"

He slumps down the wall until he's sitting on the floor. He rests his head on his hands. What I wrote to him burns in my pocket, and I feel a pang of remorse course through me. I need to erase that…

"So, what's up, Newbie? What did you really want to tell me last night?"

"I'm sorry?" I say in disbelief. He's just practically knocked a door down for me, and now he wants to talk as well? This is either the pain meds or a very crazy dream. But it seems so very real. Ok, JD. Now is the time to confess! Just take a deep breath, and…

"I'm ill!"

Ok, that's a start.

"But not seriously…"

Wait, what?

"I'm pretty sure it's just a cold, actually…"

Stop it, brain, stop it!

"But you know me; I just didn't want anyone to worry…"

Goddam it, what are you doing, JD?

"I mean, you've seen Carla when she gets into mother mode. And Elliot's just neurotic…"

This isn't how it was meant to turn out, damn it…

"So I'm just taking a few days off to sort myself out"

The look on Dr Cox's face is a mix of disbelief that morphs into uncertainty, and then clarity, like he's had some sort of minor epiphany.

"Moesha…"

And here it comes. The long rant scolding me for worrying him, for the trouble he went through almost breaking down my door, the poke at me just being plain pathetic and to get my ass into work first thing tomorrow before he finds a new lap dog. But instead, he just leans over, and pats my knee briefly before getting up.

"Get well soon, kay"

Then he leaves. I sink back into the couch, and throw my hands over my face. What in God's name am I going to do?


	3. My Hopesickness: JD

**Note-Current mood=depressed. Because I'm ill, and because I want to read some fics but loads of the new ones are season 8 spoilers, and season 8 is nawt out in the UK yet (damn…). Anyway, being ill gives me time to write, so forget previous A/N and enjoy! Little short, but oh well.**

**Song-Hopesick by Louis XIV (I really recommend them!)**

The apartment seems cramped again, and my skin is itching with the lack of fresh air. I need to get outside, to do…whatever. I guess now I know what it feels like to be under quarantine. I spend half of my day trying to catch up on the lost sleep I need, and the other half failing. When I wake up from my latest five-minute snooze, it's four fifteen. I sit up, and realize that there's a throbbing in my ears. It takes me a good two minutes to work out that the sound is coming from outside. I push myself up, and make my way over to the window. There's a procession outside, stretching as far as the eye can see. The colour blinds me for a moment. Then it hits me. Chinese New Year.

Well, the dragon was technically my first clue.

I laugh for a moment at the parade. The simplicity of the people's happiness is infectious. I need happiness like that. I haven't been able to have any for a long time. The need takes hold of me, and before I know what I'm doing, I've grabbed my coat and am racing down. I need to feel the love of the people, the sun on my skin, the…fun that radiates from the street. I need this. I _need_ this. I run through the lobby, tugging my jacket on as I go, and stop when I reach the street. The sun is bright, even though the air is bitterly cold. I take a step forward into the street, and blindly follow the parade, not sure where I'm even going. Step follows step follows step. Finally, the parade ends up in the park, surrounded by food stalls which make my stomach turn and thumping music. But in the midst of all the chaos, I find myself smiling.

I pull my jacket tight around my chest, and look around, confused. There are dancing girls, and I don't understand how they can't feel the cold in their skimpy outfits. A few years ago I might have been here with Turk and Carla and Elliot, and me and Turk would be talking about how hot those girls were. Now I just feel nothing. It's kinda like I'm hanging from a rope in my head. I look around me, trying to see if anyone I know's here. I spot a few interns I recognize, and I think I see someone who looks a little like Rex, but aside from that no one. I'm safe.

And anyway, life's too short to not enjoy it, as I know all to well. I soon find myself dancing wildly to the thumping music, a grin stretched across my face. If I were to catch sight of myself in a mirror, I'm sure I would look like a skinnier, gaunt version of what I used to be. John Dorian – professional party animal, sombreros at the door. All that stuff. People are giving me odd smiles, but I don't really care. For once this month, I feel like I can live the rest of my life like how I want, instead of being cooped up in my apartment. I feel like I can be me without anyone I know watching, judging, like they always do.

"Newbie?"

Or, on second thoughts, maybe not. A panicked voice arises from the crowd, filled with despair and authority.

"Newbie!"

I look around to try and see him, so I can go in the other direction and make my escape. But I'm too late, and I feel a rough hand on my shoulder. When I turn, he's staring at me, with fire in his eyes and fear scrawled over his face that quickly turns to relief and then anger. I bite the inside of my cheek. What in God's name is he doing?

"What in God's name are you doing?" he yells in my face, struggling to make himself heard over the crowd.

"What are you doing here?" I respond. Then I yelp as I'm dragged off my feet away from the crowd, my mentor bellowing in my ear the whole while.

"Now, Martha, you being a doctor, albeit the most pathetic excuse for one I've ever seen, should remember the most simple doctoring techniques, like avoiding Johnny the Tackling Alzheimer's patient, or _nawt_ getting a Hepatitis B needle stuck in your arm, both of which you have managed to do, but the most truly simple thing, which even Hugh Jackman could master, and which even surely you can do, is to not go out when you are sick! Are you getting this, Moesha? Are ya? Are ya really?"

"Yes!" I snap. "Stop yelling in my ear!"

By this time we're far away enough from the crowd to speak normally. I angrily shake his grip off my arm.

"Are you following me or something?" I say furiously. "Seriously? Do you have nothing better to do with your time than to torment me?"

Oh my god. I just argued with Dr Cox. Ok, JD, take a deep breath and then run like hell! I brace myself for the longest rant in history, but instead, he sighs and rubs the back of his neck with his calloused hands.

"Oh, I have plenty of better things to do" he says with a small, puffed laugh. "It's just I…er…"

His words falter, so he's standing there with an open mouth, but nothing is coming out. Somehow this exchange of roles makes me feel even braver.

"I mean, why are you even here? You don't do celebrations"

Then, suddenly, my chest clogs. I can't breath. I start coughing violently, and my legs buckle. I fall forward as my vision momentarily clouds. Then a pair of strong arms around my chest, and I'm not hitting the ground. Then, as quickly as the attack came, it vanishes, and I realize what's going on. Dr Cox is…hugging me.

"Steady there, Newbie. You ok? Balls too big, huh?" He laughs nervously. I try to stand up, but my legs are too floppy, so I end up falling backwards onto the ground. Then the arm snakes around my waist, just under my arms, and hoists me up. My feet drag on the ground as Dr Cox _walks _me out of the park. I try to keep my shaking hands as calm as possible. Even when my feet begin to walk by themselves, he keeps propping me up, and we are both silent until be get back to my apartment. Then he silently lets me go. I nod my thanks, and walk up the stairs. He follows me. I spin round on the stairs and face him.

"Why are you still following me?" I ask inquisitively. His eye twitches.

"Making sure you don't swoon" he says through gritted teeth. I shake my head, open the door, and collapse onto my couch. He stands awkwardly in the doorway.

"Do…you need anything?" he mumbles?

Hmm, let's see. I need the drugs that keep me alive. I need love. I need fun. I need sun, help, hope. I need a break.

"I think I'll be ok" I say. He nods.

"Ok…just…don't tire yourself out. Your patients need you…" he says. Then he mutters something I can't understand, and hurriedly leaves. I flop back onto the couch as the door closes, so I'm lying down, staring up at the ceiling. My skin aches. What does it take to just be left alone? I breathe in, my heart flutters, and I shudder. It was so hard to hope for a little…care from my mentor. And now it's come, I can't seem to let it go, and I just pushed it away. Well done, JD. Good for you. The only sound in the room is the crackling of my lungs, so it's only now that I realize my heart is beating so fast. I find myself staring at the door, willing him to come back. But, of course, he doesn't.

I love Dr Cox. It doesn't hit me as hard as the illness did, but it's enough to nearly throw me backwards mentally. It takes me a short while to digest it, but it all makes sense, and my head suddenly feels clearer, as if this realization is going to make everything better. Of course, it was only one step up from hero worship. I laugh to myself. It's almost a joke. It's almost as if, because I'm dying, my life is rushing to complete itself and everything it should do. I'm going to wake up tomorrow and find myself married to Dr Cox with Sam, Jenny and Jack at my feet. The thought sends me into peals of laughter, which then fades to quiet tears. In the image, I loved him, and he loved me. But…it was only in my head.

I lay back on the couch as the tears fall. I'm sick of hoping.


	4. My Sunshine: JD

**Note-Muhaha, you didn't think I'd be back so soon! Well, I am! I have a week's break, so I can write to my (and your) hearts content! Reviews=Smiles, so I will be happy to receive any feedback at all, no matter how little it is. I think Dr Cox is a little OOC in this chapter. What do you think?**

**Song-Sunshine Of Your Love by Cream.**

_I wake up. I'm lying in a bed, but it's not mine. The covers feel all itchy, and I'm so hot. There's a strange noise. I look down to the end of the bed, and I'm standing there, decked out in scrubs, taking notes._

"_Ah, you're awake!" I say. I claw at the sheets. I'm a hospital bed. It's so hot. I'm suffocating in the air. Other-me comes towards me holding a pillow, and holds it down over my head. I can't breathe. All I can hear is the rush of blood in my ears and someone saying "I've got you, Newbie…"_

I wake up with a jolt, and sit upright. I'm panting, and boiling hot. Great. The only sleep I've gotten all night and it had to be a nightmare. I fall back down on my bed, and look at my window. It's getting near dawn. I'm still in exactly in the same position I was when I actually went to bed, around nine hours ago. I barely got any sleep at all. Good old sickness, huh? Never lets you down. Things just keep playing over in my head, setting off a train of thought that could go on for hours. The energy just keeps coursing through my body, through my blistered lungs, crooked fingers and frail form. I didn't eat anything yesterday after _he_ left, and I'm just getting thinner by the day. Maybe anorexia will kill me before my illness. I'll just sit in a withered apartment and waste away. The cops will break down a door and find a skeleton. At least the coffin will be cheaper…

I stop myself mid-thought. That's the sort of train of thinking I've been trying not to have all night. It's not doing me any good, this not sleeping. Maybe I should get some sleeping pills. I close my eyes and try to imagine him lying next to me. It's the morning, and it's just us two alone. He would put his arms around me and I would whisper my secret like a dawn surprise. Maybe he would go across the world and find a cure. Or maybe he would just stay with me so I would be with him when my stars start falling. Outside, the real stars are fading, and the first light of the day stretches through my window. I breathe deeply. The initial panic of my nightmare is slowly evaporating from my mind. I look at my clock. It's almost six in the morning. On a normal day I'd be getting up for work. But today, and all the days I've had since a week ago, and all the days I still have left, won't be normal.

I pull the twisted covers tight around me and daydream. Not the daydreams I usually have. Not _my _daydreams. No. I daydream about normality, about what it would be like if today was just a normal day. No quirky, strange fantasies. All I want is normality. I daydream about getting up, going to work. I talk to Carla and Turk. I do rounds with my interns. I hang out with Elliot and help her figure out her cases. I treat Dr Cox's patient because he's watching his soaps and can't be assed. I have lunch. I avoid the Janitor. I save a patient. I get thanked by a family. Someone I've treated leaves. Someone codes. They die. I don't. Instead I go home and go to bed.

By the time I get up, it's seven thirty. I have a shower, and pull on some old jeans and a top. I'm just toweling off my hair when there's a knock at the door. I open it, and he's standing there, so naturally my heart stops. I almost drop the damp towel in my hand.

"Dr Cox…what are you doing here?"

It's the third time he's been here in three days, I silently observe to myself.

"Shouldn't you be at work?"

"It's my day off, Sheila" he says, pushing past me into the apartment. "And as to what I'm doing, well I'm checking up on you"

I shut the door, and turn to look at him. He folds his arms, flicks his nose, and stares right back. Locked in a silent battle, predator and prey stand and watch each other. Then he breaks away, and sits down on the couch. Normally, winning a staring match with Dr Cox would equal a two-page journal entry and a victory dance, but now it doesn't feel so big. Nothing does any more. The broken light through the window is shining on him.

"Well…I'm ok" I lie. "You don't need to keep coming here. It's only flu"

But he's already barged into my kitchen and is foraging around for my coffee powder. He pulls it out of the cupboard triumphantly. Ignoring my protests and small whimpered pleas that he doesn't need to do anything, he pours it into a mug.

"Dr Cox…I'm fine…" I insist quietly, but he turns to me with a growl.

"Ya don't look very fine!" he says through clenched teeth. "Now are ya gonna be a good Newbie and let me get on with making my coffee without making a sound, coz if ya do I'll make sure it's the last sound you make, flu or no flu"

I nod with a small squeak and sit down on sofa. He shakes his head and turns back to his task. I watch him, letting myself pretend for a very, very small moment that he's mine. I walk over to him and wrap my arms around his waist. He turns around and kisses me on the mouth…

"Newbie?"

I jolt awake from my daydream. He's standing there, holding two steaming mugs in his hands. I shake my head.

"Yes?" I say with full attention. He cautiously sets the mug down in front of me. I take it, and hold it with both hands. I don't drink it. The thought sickens me. I just stare down at the brown liquid which I used to swear I had an addiction to.

"Are you gonna drink that?" says Dr Cox, shattering my thoughts.

"Um…actually, I don't think I'm in the mood…" I mumble, laying the cup down on a coaster. I set my hands in my lap so he doesn't see my fingers.

"Drink it!" he commands. I open my mouth to protest, but he interrupts me. "Buh-buh-buh! Drink" I obediently pick up the cup again and take a small, tentative sip that burns my tongue. I feel like retching, but I force myself to swallow, and put the cup back on the table. He rolls his eyes.

"Marilyn, did you actually eat anything since I left yesterday? Coz I know you want to keep your figure like all those girls in Vogue, but those girls are so airbrushed you can see the pencil marks!"

I shake my head.

"I wasn't hungry. And you know what they say: feed a cold, starve a fever!" I say with a very sheepish smile.

"Now Newbie you know that's just nawt true! Here and I thought you were halfway to becoming a near-decent doctor!"

Did he just complement me? Contain the joy, JD!

"You don't put stress on any illness, and starving yourself puts stress on you! My god, Janice, have any of the things I've taught you found their way into that pink little candy floss brain of yours?"

I sigh and take up my drink again, breaking under his harsh words. I drain the mug, and slap it back down on the table. I immediately feel nauseous, but I don't let it show.

"She's doing fine you know, Newbie" he mumbles. I look at him.

"What? Who is?"

"Lucy Davids"

At first I have no idea who he's talking about. Then I remember. The teenage suicide patient I assigned him when I went to his apartment.

"Oh…great…" I say.

"We had to refer her to a psychologist. Apparently she's having a hard time at home…her mom died a few years ago"

"Oh…"

An awkward silence fills the room. I shift my feet and stare at the floor.

"Your gal pals are worried about you"

My heart stops.

"What? You didn't tell them…"

"Relax, Alice" he cuts me off. "They're wondering about your supposed family emergency. Gumball thinks your brother's died or something. They keep debating on whether to call you or not"

I laugh softly.

"How are they?"

"Barbie keeps freaking over every little diagnosis she can't work out. Usually she goes to you for those sorts of things, but she just looks kinda…lost with you not there. Carla thinks you need her to drive down to Ohio just to sort things out. Gandhi's trying to use the Todd as a temporary replacement for you…but it isn't working. Even the Janitor's fidgety. They all need you to come back" he says gently.

"You seem to know a lot about my friend's thoughts and feelings. I thought you couldn't care less" I retaliate.

"Yeah, well they all seem to use me as their go-to guy when you're not around" he says with a small, dry half-smile.

"What about you?" I whisper to myself. But he hears.

"Me? I need you to come back and take all these damn patients off my hands. But we can't have sick people treating sick people, so I thought I'd come over and…help speed up the process of getting you back"

I smile down at my sneakers.

"I miss work" I mutter. Next to me, he scoffs.

"You _miss_ working in the seventh layer of hell?"

"Yep" I shrug nonchalantly.

"How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Manage to balance your own and everyone else's problems and still manage to come in with that goofy, girly smile. It's been seven year and you haven't shriveled like everyone else. Everyone's changed, but you…you're just the same, consistent, annoying kid you were when you first started. I just…how do you do it?"

I turn my head and look at him sideways. He's leant back on the chair, his arm thrown over the back, sipping his coffee.

"I dunno" I say. "I guess…when people need you to be there for them, you gotta be there, you know? Just…gotta keep pulling through"

He sets his coffee down and looks at me.

"Wow…" he whispers softly. And he looks at me and I look at him. His eyes are filled with a mix of wonder and fear and confusion and…sometime I can't place, but I'm sure he can see it in my eyes too. He leans a fraction of a millimeter closer, and so do I. Our lips bump together gently. He kisses me, and this time it's not a daydream. He's kissing me and I'm kissing back. Our mouths are a tangle, blood rhythmically pulsing through our lips. Tears that I didn't even know were there dry on my cheeks. I've been waiting so long to be here, and I'm with him now. Something falls out of my pocket. I pray he doesn't stop, but curiosity gets the better of him and he pulls away. He picks up whatever I've dropped, and I see it's a bit of paper, and he opens it. My heart stops as he reads, his eyes scanning over the scrawled writing.

"Newbie, what the hell is this?"


	5. My Knowledge: Perry

**Note-Just want to know if anyone is going away and listening to the songs I use in the chapters? Just interested is all. PLEASE review, because almost nothing makes me happier! This chapter is from Perry's POV, just to let you know.**

**Song-Who'd Have Known by Lily Allen**

"Newbie, what the hell is this?"

I scan the paper hungrily. Next to me, JD's eyes widen, and I hear him mouth a course, rusty "Oh shit…" I stare at the paper. The writing is careless and messy, almost unreadable, but each word seems to burn where my sight touches it. I take in small sentences, and then I'm quietly reading them out loud, as if I'm looking for some conformation.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you about this before…I hope one of you finds this before the paramedics…Newbie, what is God's name is this?" I spit, and look up at him from where I'm kneeling on his floor. I can feel the fire in my eyes, and see the pure terror in his. "What's going on?"

"D-Dr Cox…" he stutters. His hands are clasped together, and he could almost be praying. He looks like he's just poked a sleeping bear. He probably thinks he has. I would, too, if I were him.

"What's going on, JD?"

The use of his first name works instantly. His muscles momentarily detract and relax, before tightening again. The motion is fluid, almost in perfect time with his breathing. I breathe.

"JD?"

"Idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis" he blurts out.

My heart stops.

My body freezes.

My voice shakes. It's violent.

"What?"

"Dr Cox, I…" he begins, but he gives up. We're both beyond words. I stand up on shaking legs and make for the door. I can't do this. No. Nawt now, nawt ever. He yells my first name as I close the door, but I can barely hear over the pounding of the blood on my ears. I race down the stairs, skipping two or three at a time, out of the apartments.

Idiopath pulm fibro.

Idiopath pulm fibro.

Idiopath pulm fibro.

That's not right. It must be a misdiagnosis…Newbie doesn't get sick! He gets pissy and stroppy and whiny, like all girls around that time of the month, but he _doesn't get sick_. It's impossible. But somehow…it's so real it makes me want to throw up.

I almost run back to my apartment, up the stairs and slam through my front door. But something looks different. There are three bags by the door. Two suitcases, large and black and almost menacing, and one is a small, innocent, primary-coloured backpack. Jordan is standing there, pulling on her leather jacket with one arm and balancing our daughter on her hip with the other. Jack stand next to her, beaming.

"Pewwy's home!" he announces.

"Hey, Per-Per" Jordan says indifferently.

"Hey, Jacky-boy" I say, and hug my son, ruffling my hands through his hair. Then I stand up and look at Jordan. "Satan…what in God's name…oops, not meant to mention his name around you, right…are you doing?"

"Mom's in hospital" my ex-wife says casually. "We're going. You're not"

"Ah, sweet restraining order…" I grin sarcastically.

"I know" she smiles back, before thrusting Jennifer Dylan into my arms. "Anyway, we'll be a few weeks"

"A few weeks?" I say. Jordan looks up at me with evil eyes.

"Aww! Is Per-Bear jealous that he's not invited to the slumber party?"

"Actually, Jordaroo, a few weeks away from your everlasting presence is exa-hatley what I needed"

"Charming" she shrugs. "I'll call you when we get to the motel"

She plucks Jennifer from my arms, and leaves.

The house is silent. I walk into my living room and down a scotch and sit on my couch. I picture Newbie in his apartment, broken and bruised. I feel his mouth on mine. I blink, hard, and smack my lips to throw the remaining droplets of alcohol into my mouth. The strength of the taste burns into my head. It doesn't help.

I shift my torso to lie down, and I feel something crumple in my pocket. I pull it out of my pocket. It's Newbie's note. I read the first part again. Twice. Three times. I read it over and over and it doesn't help me in any way. Then my eyes feel brave enough to move down, and I read the rest of the letter. By the time I finish, the letters have been blurred by the four silent tears that dropped onto the paper. It scares me.

Because Perry Ulysses Cox _doesn't _cry.

I scrunch up the paper into a little ball and chuck it across the room. Goddamn it, Newbie. What the hell made you think I didn't care? I run my hands over my face and lean back to breathe. I look up at the ceiling. There's a small stain from when Jack threw his burger upwards. I sigh. It's only been half an hour since Jordan left, but the house already feels empty. I get up to get another scotch. I drink it. When I wake up, it's 3 am and I'm asleep on my couch. I get up and go to bed.

It's almost a week before I can gather the courage to venture back to Newbie's again. However, that doesn't mean that it takes me almost half an hour to leave my apartment, with strong alcohol pumping through my veins to make me feel invincible. Unfortunately, by the time I arrive at his apartment, the effects have worn off, and I can't bring myself to even press the bell. So I sink down against the wall, and just sit there, feeling like a dumb teenager and not having a clue what to do next.

I look around at the corridor. Unlike my own block, it's surprisingly light and cheerful. A small dog is lying on the carpet, snoozing on its front paws. I stare at it. Are they allowed pets here? I shake my head, and lean my head against the wall.

And then my pager goes off.

As I begin to fumble around in my pocket for the source of the noise, the dog wakes up, and starts to bark, a loud scratchy noise from the pit of its belly. It bears its teeth at an invisible rival, and yaps consistently.

"Whoa, easy there…" I mutter, panicked, trying to calm it down. But it keeps on yapping away, the sound echoing back off the wooden walls. And then the door behind me opens.

"Shut up, Barney…" JD mutters tiredly. Then he sees me, and his eyes open wide. He retreats backwards, and begins to shut the door.

"No, no wait!" I yell, getting up and practically flinging myself against the wall. "Newbie!"

He opens the door a little more, and regards me with caution.

"What do you want?" he says. But all the anger that was there the last time he asked me that question has drained from the sentence, leaving it blank and empty.

"To…" I begin. I breathe. I swallow. I grit my teeth. "To speak to you?"

It comes out more as a question, and he raises an eyebrow. I roll my eyes.

"Look, Susan, you know I'm not good at this sensitive introductory crap so can you just cut to the chase and let me in?"

For a moment I'm unsure of his reaction. But the fear is still there. He quickly widens the doorway and steps back. I walk into the apartment, and he shuts the door. He looks around, and I get the sense he feels trapped. I sit down on his couch. He doesn't move. I don't speak. I don't know where to begin. The only sound is the muffled sounds of the dog, still barking in a frantic frenzy behind the door, and his cracked breathing.

"Why didn't you tell me, Newbie?" I ask, flicking my nose and crossing my arms. He shrugs, leaning against the wall.

"I dunno…I guess I was scared, I guess…like once you admit it, it becomes a reality, you know?" he mumbles. I shake my head. I don't know. He laughs gently, and looks down at his feet.

"It's weird…I haven't left this apartment for days. I've just been sitting around, watching TV and drinking beer…"

He trails off. He sighs. He looks at me.

"I'm amazed at how affectionate you are" he says sarcastically.

"Oh come on now!" I respond sharply. "Gimme a break!"

"Give you a break? Last time I checked, I was the dying one" he says emotionlessly. He moves over and sits down next to me. I fold my hands together and rest them on the back of my head. The clock on the wall says five.

"So…" I say. "What are you gonna do?"

"I dunno" he replies. "Keep living, I guess. What else is there to do?"

"What, so no things to do before you die? No big celebrations?"

He shakes his head. "Not that I was planning on. Still hasn't quite sunk in"

"How long have you got?"

"Not long. Few months at the most"

"Shit..."

"Yeah"

"Well, guess that gives me time to bring all my stuff round"

He stares at me, his face a mask of complete confusion.

"I'm sorry, what now?"

"Carol, are you really a doctor or a doctor like Dr Who is a doctor? Because if you were the former, you'd know that a professional cannawt let a patient stay by himself until "the big day" because that would only work until the people below start complaining of a funny smell coming through their ceiling!"

He pales. I turn away.

"Sorry"

"Wait…you're moving in here?"

"That sounds about right"

"But what about Jordan?" he says softly.

"The she-devil can blow it out her ass, Newbie. She's gone up to visit her mother in the seventh layer of hell"

He nods his head slowly. "That's nice…wow, really? You-you're moving in?"

"Yep" I say. I have not thought this through. A smile stretches across his face.

"Wow…this is awkward. Least I won't feel alone any more!"

He shuffles his feet.

He's looking at me. His gaze burns into the side of my head. I turn to him. His eyes lock into mine. The cold blue blazes, and I swear he's trying to stare into my soul. He kisses me. I kiss him back. He clings to me like he's drowning. Maybe he is.


	6. My Car Chase: JD

**Note-I had some of the most amazing reviews ever for the last chapter, so a huge thank you to pretty much everyone! Sorry it took so long to update. I've had a truckload of stuff to do, what with school and holidays and whatnot.**

**Song-Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol (yes, this is where the title comes in!)**

"So, Mr. Dorian, is there anything you need to talk about?" says Anna Spencer for the tenth time today, staring me in the eyes. She's wearing a tight white top and a simple blue denim skirt. Her hair is loose, and she's gained a pair of red-rimmed glasses. She looks nicer than last time. She stares me in the eyes, expecting an answer. So I shake my head.

"Nope…not really"

She sighs, and lays her pencil down on her blank clipboard. She's exasperated, and I sympathize. If I was in her position, I'd be frustrated with me too. I mean, I'm not exactly making it easy for her.

"Mr. Dorian, you're not exactly making this easy for me. We've been going in circles for nearly half an hour now"

"What do you want me to say?"

"Whatever you're comfortable with"

"See. You're not making it easy for me either" I say monotonously. If it's a game of cat-and-mouse she wants, then I'm a perfect match. I spent enough time practicing on Turk. She shakes her head, and laughs irritably.

"I think we need to work on your communication skills, Mr. Dorian"

"What?" I laugh. "My communication skills are great!"

"Oh, really? Because during the last two sessions I have got nothing from you about anything! I mean…have you even told anyone about your illness?" she says bluntly. I flinch. She notices.

"Yes, actually!" I snap.

"Really?" this time she's genuinely surprised. "How did it go?"

A kiss. A touch. A declaration whispered against lips.

"It went ok, I guess" Dr Spencer smirks. "What?"

"You're blushing" she titters. I grit my teeth as my face grows hot. She stops laughing at my expression, and clears her throat nervously.

"Um…I'm sorry" she mutters, looking down at her clipboard in embarrassment. I breathe heavily.

"It went brilliantly" I say. Her eyes anxiously flick up to me again. She reminds me of a small bird; a robin probably.

"Great!" she smiles. She doesn't expect me to continue, but I do. Suddenly, I need to tell everyone; shout it to the world.

"Actually, we've moved in together" I say blankly. She looks at me in confusion.

"T-That's great…and does she know about your illness…because of the, um…complications…?" I smile. This'll be fun.

"Yes, _he _knows perfectly well" I say. Her face contorts into shock.

"Oh! Oh my…God…I'm so…I'm sorry…I assumed…" she stutters. I laugh. She could almost be the lovechild of Elliot and Doug.

"Don't worry about it. Most people do" I smile. Her face relaxes. The clock ticks round to half past. The session is over. I get up, and take my jacket off the chair. She looks at me as if she's forgotten what we're supposed to be doing.

"I'll see you in two weeks?" she says. Her voice is high. I shrug.

"Maybe. Hopefully I'll still be alive by then" I say, and wave. Then I shut the door and leave her behind in the room.

St. Peregrine's is a giant of a hospital. Outside it looks more like a museum, with loads of stone steps leading up to the entrance, with a separate staff entrance and Ambulance Park round the back. It has marble pillars surrounding the outside, and is about five stories high. All the doctors wear white coats. There are no crazy janitors, no suicidal lawyers and defiantly no sexual deviant surgeons. The healthcare is outstanding. It's a perfectly normal place, and above all I don't know anyone working there because my hospital is its biggest rival. So I'm getting treated there instead of Sacred Heart. In the end, you're born alone, and you die alone, and I don't want to be surrounded by various colleagues while I'm doing so.

The hospital is quiet. Everyone seems to be floating around in their own little bubble. There's no chatter, no sociability. No life. I smile to myself. I couldn't survive here. I exit the hospital from the visitor's entrance, and count the steps as I go down. There's exactly fifty-two. When I get to the bottom, I look up. He's standing by the end of the railing, looking around nervously, hands in his pockets. I smile to myself, as if remembering some inside joke. He looks up. He nods, and a small smile plays across his lips.

"Hey" I say. My voice snaps, like it's made of glass. He notices, but tries to hide his concern. Ah, Perry. Always the romantic, weren't you?

"Stephanie" he says quietly. I smile thinly. We start to walk together. He walks slightly apart so that we look like just two guys walking down a road. I don't mind.

"How'd it go?" he asks, glancing at me sideways. I shrug, and shake my hand from side to side. He understands, and nods. Words don't need to be spoken. In the end, everything's already been said.

"How was work?" I ask in response. He sighs.

"Same hellhole it always is" he begins. "You wouldn't believe the amount of pressure your gal-pals are putting on me. They keep going on about you and their goddam theories, and they seem to think that I'm the one who's gonna help them out of it. I swear to God…it's all I can do not to snap and rip them each a freshly teared new one"

"Please don't" I say nonchalantly. "I need at least more than ten people at my funeral. They're still my friends, Perry"

He turns away from me, and mutters something that sounds oddly like "some friends". I let it slide. Some days are harder than others.

We arrive back to the apartment, and he feeds the key into the hole. It clicks open with a rusty scraping noise, and we walk in. I breathe a sigh of relief. I feel too stifled outside. My apartment is my sanctuary.

"I'm exhausted…" I mumble, sinking down onto the couch. Perry laughs, a smile stretching over his top lip.

"Give me a break, Newbie; you've only been out an hour"

I nod. "I know. God, I hate being such an invalid!"

He sits down next to me, and runs his fingertips over the back of my hand, gently. Since when has he done gentle? I smile. I can live with gentle. After a few, silent minutes, I get up and go into the bathroom to run a bath. As soon as I close the door I hear the sound of a sports game start suddenly on the TV. I shake my head. How can someone adapt to something so big and make it into something so normal?

I turn on the taps, undress, and step into the tub. Lavender-scented foam from the bath salts rises up around me as I sink deeper into the near-scalding water, and let it envelope my body. I breathe a contented sigh, and hum the first line of Africa. The last time I did something like this I ended up seeing a Manatee. I pick up the conditioner from the side of the bath, squirt some into my hand and rub it into my hair.

Suddenly, the door swings open. I squeak, and hastily cover up myself. Perry blinks. Hard. Then he laughs.

"Why the girly squeal, Joanna?"

I blush, and mumble something into the bubbles.

"Speak up, Jacqueline"

"I don't want you to see my giblets"

"Oh please, gimme a break, I've already seen your…" he cringes at my choice of word. "…giblets"

"That was different, that was the vassalage sympathy!" I remind him quickly. He shakes his head, frowns and makes a small sound in the back of his throat that he does when he's annoyed. I expect him to turn around and head back out. But instead he walks up to the tub, and kneels down so he's behind me.

Then he does something incredible.

_Then _he takes a bottle.

And _then_ he starts to wash my hair.

I freeze. But it's not a cruel trick. His rough fingertips gently smooth the conditioner into my scalp. My breath catches in my throat. Slowly, I relax as he massages my head, running his hands through my tresses. And then he stops.

"No…" he mutters to himself. "No no no, no! I can't do it…" He stands up and leaves the room, slamming the door behind him. I frown. What the hell? I duck my head underwater to rinse my hair, and clamber out of the bath. I towel myself off, and get dressed. When I leave the bathroom, he's sitting on the couch, his hands on the back of his head, looking up at the ceiling. I sit down next to him.

"Can't do what?" I ask casually. He jolts slightly, as if he's only just realized that I'm here. Well, it's plausible.

"I can't do the whole "caring" thing" he says. "I-It's just not me!"

I shrug. "That's fine…"

"No!" he interrupts. "No, no it's not! Because I'm meant to be looking after you, and I just can't do it! I mean this is…this is…this is stressful"

"Really?" I mumble. "I'm so sorry. But last time I checked, I was the one dying, so if you need counseling I can offer you the numbers of some good shrinks!"

I walk into my room, shut the door, and lay flat on my bed. The water from my hair soaks into the sheets, leaving a damp patch beneath my head. Slowly, the small amount of anger in me ebbs away. I breathe slowly, and look at the ceiling. I daydream. In my mind I chase a car around my own head. I can almost hear the steady drum of the engine; smell the fumes from the exhaust. I hear him moving around outside. When he comes in, I'm lying, spread-eagled, on my back.

"Newbie…what are you doing?"

"I'm just lying here…trying to forget the world. Will you lie with me?"

There's a sigh. He mutters something under his breath, most likely some shape or form of a girl's name. Then the end of the bed sags as he sits. A stray curl brushes the side of my head as he lays down, his hands under his head. I roll over and press the side of my face into his chest. He tenses briefly.

"We'll do it all, won't we? On our own"

He nods.

"Coming from you, Perry, that means a lot"


	7. My Secret, Lonely Place: JD

**Note-Yep, penultimate chapter! I am really sorry it took (again) so long to upload. I had a case of severe writers block, and then I got suddenly sidetracked, by all things, by the Harry Potter archive (yeah, I'm shocked too). But I'm back now. And you probably don't want to hear about my dull personal life, so on with JD's…By the way, if there's any questions about this story you want answering, PM me and I'll try to fit them into…the final chapter! Warning: Immense fluff. **

**Song-Somewhere Only We Know, by Keane. **

Conveniently, it's raining. Great, fat gobbets of water slide down the windowsill, almost like something from a movie set. I sigh, and roll over. My bed is soft, warm. I cough violently as the tickle in my throat builds up to a cacophony that shakes the core of my chest and racks my lungs. Tears appear with the strain. I finish with a hoarse gasp and a shudder. I wish Perry was here. But he's at work, dealing with more sick people. Sometimes I don't know how he manages it. He's Superman. Well, to me at least.

I frown as I try to sit up. The effort it causes is like an Everest to me. I breathe, slowly, hoping to sieve the air so to cool my burning throat without starting off another coughing fit. I shut my eyes, as dizziness washes over me. Maybe it's best not to get up today.

I sigh, and roll my head on my neck to release the cricks. As I tilt my aching skull, I notice the cup of coffee on the bedside table, and I smile. I pick the mug up, and place it to my lips. I grimace. The liquid is cold. How long have I been asleep? I look at the clock, and wince. It's almost midday. I've been sleeping for fifteen hours. And deeply, too, otherwise I would have woken up when he left. I blink. My eyelids are hot, heavy. Oh well. His shift finishes at one, and then he'll come back to me. That prospect, at least, makes me smile, just a little bit.

I cast my eyes around the room. Clothes are piled neatly on a chair, from where I could have been bothered, but most are strewn over the floor. Housework was always my strong point, but sometimes, in bad circumstances, things like that tend to slip. Through the open door, I can see the small couch, where so many people have come and gone. Kim used to sit there, when she was pregnant, once upon a time. Parties and social gathering from only a while back that seem like forever. Elliot would always deny yet another glass of cheap red wine, but it never took much pushing to get her to accept. Carla barely ever had anything; she always volunteered to drive Turk home. Turk himself, sat squarely on the couch, talking of college day stories that always make us laugh, no matter how many times they're repeated.

Where did the simple things go?

There's a mirror on the other side of the room. I shift my weight, and crane my neck so as to see into it better. The face looking back sends a jolt of horror through my body. Have I really changed so much in a few weeks-well, I suppose it's almost been two months now. I look so…gaunt and old. I frown, and touch my face, expecting the skin to crumble like sand under my fingers. When it doesn't, it makes me smile.

Its midday on a Thursday and I have ages to myself.

I scratch an itchy patch on my arm and breathe. My legs are too heavy to get out of bed, and I feel like I'm being weighed down by a cartoon-style kilogram weight; a coyote, endlessly searching, trying to catch his roadrunner.

There's a crumpled newspaper on the floor from a few days ago. I bend down to pick it up. The task is less straightforward that I remember. Eventually, with a lot of strain, I manage to haul the paper onto the duvet. The front page is of some new economic crisis that I must have missed. Come to think of it, I've probably missed all the stories of the past few weeks. Even hospital gossip, which, surprisingly, I miss. I miss talking to Carla about it, making judgments and spreading funny rumors that nobody believes.

God, I miss life.

I can hear the rain still faintly pattering on the glass of the window. I throw my eyes around the room again. Somehow, it's never looked smaller. When I'm gone, all my things will eventually be covered with sheets of plastic, collecting dust, until they are collected and sold, or auctioned. The thought of an auctioneer rambling out numbers in my cramped little apartment makes me laugh wheezily. Who would buy my stuff?

I've been daydreaming a lot more than usual lately. I assume that eventually, maybe I'll just start daydreaming and…never wake up. No more quirky comments for John Dorian.

I'm tired. Which is odd considering the fifteen hours sleep. My bones ache. My skin aches. Even my precious, prized hair feels weighted, and I'm tempted to walk into the bathroom and shave it all off just to feel the air on my scalp. I sink back down into pillow and blankets and shudder out a small breath. My world is crumbling slowly around me, and in the end I too will fall with it into the abyss. All I can do is lie here and breathe.

Whoa, prizes for deep and depressing thoughts, JD. Try to stay light. Keep a little bit of your old self close to your heart; even if you do have idi…idio…damn, I've forgotten the word. I doubt there's enough oxygen getting to my brain. No wonder I'm feeling so light-headed. I wonder if I'll get a chance to start again. Reincarnation. I like the idea of that. Maybe I'll come back as a golden Labrador that gets killed and stuffed, and is bought by two guys in their first day of college to be their best, silent friend. I hope so.

I glance over at the clock again. It's one. I smile wearily. He'll be back soon, and then everything will be alright. He'll look after me. He always does. Even if he doesn't want to, he does because he's generous and sacrificial. I can't even begin to compare.

My throat scratches like sandpaper, and even though I'm not supposed to, I let myself indulge in a small cough. Eventually, the roaring in my ears builds up as the hacking grows more violent. Tears blur my eyes. I can't stop. I can't breathe. The next thing I know is that two strong arms are around me, propping me up. I look up, and I see the fear in my eyes reflected in his.

"I can't breathe…" I choke out. Then blackness swims and I fall.

When I next open my eyes, I'm in an ambulance, attached to various tubes and monitors. An oxygen mask is clamped to my face. I suck in as much as I can without keeling over again. He stands over me, talking hastily, panicked to a paramedic. He doesn't know I'm awake yet. The paramedic is young, and looks terrified. Well, I suppose anyone would be with Perry Cox barking orders in their ears.

"For God's sake, get him to Sacred Heart!" Perry screams, and my stomach twists. I reach up, and rip the oxygen mask from my prying lips.

"No-" I begin, breathing in short gasps. He turns to me, relief evident in his face. "No…St Per-…St Peregrine's"

"It's too far" he says apologetically, as the doors slam behind him and the van lurches into action. He gently places the mask back on my face. He is too tall for the van, having to stoop. His curls brush the curved, white roof. He strokes my face with his warm fingers. They burn against my cold skin.

"You gave us quite a scare there, Newbie" he laughs, shakily. I blink, trying not to slip into blackness again. "Good thing I got to you in time, huh?"

I try to nod, and his mouth quivers. He sits down on the small plastic chair rooted to the jolting floor, and buries his head in his hands.

"Goddammit…" he mutters to himself. "Not now. Not so soon…"

Slowly I reach out, and brush his knee with my fingers. He flinches, and looks up with a start. Then, softly, he takes my hand. I smile weakly. God, please let this moment last.

Then the ambulance staggers to a halt. The doors are torn open by the paramedics, and my gurney is dragged out into the air, surrounded by yelling people. I look around, worried. So long…I preserved my secret for so long, and now…here we are. The place I most wanted to avoid. As we burst through the hospital doors, I look over at him, but he's too busy yelling out orders to frozen interns. God, is this really the place I left behind? Before, it seemed holy, untouched, a perfect memory. Now, it's too real for reality.

"Oh my God…JD?"

Then I see a flash of purple Scrubs, and we run right past Carla, the shock embedded on her face. She briskly walks beside the gurney, looking down at me in horror.

"What's going on?" she demands, looking up at him, her face twisted in revulsion.

"Carla" he says sternly. "We need a room in…"

But his voice is interrupted by a ridiculously high-pitched scream, and a bundle of lab-coat and straw-coloured hair leaps onto the cart.

"JD?" Elliot screams, ignoring the bangs flopping in front of her face for once. She looks up at him, fury blazing in her eyes.

"What did you do to him?" she shrieks. He only ignores her; instead he focuses on my face, and my sunken breathing.

"Hey" he whispers. "You're alright, kay?"

I nod briefly, and he is satisfied, and resumes yelling at the crowd of people gradually surrounding the gurney to leave. Elliot lets go of her hold on the gurney, confusion streaked down her face. Carla has gone as well, to find a room. I give up on trying to keep track of it all, and just focus on breathing. In. Out. In. Out. On and on. Repetition, replication. Always the same, always the same.

Eventually, I am hauled onto a bed by a bunch of people, with tubes and wires still hanging off me. I close my eyes. I hear Perry yelling at everyone to stop gawking and get on with their pathetic jobs, and the crowd files out of the room. Perry locks the door behind them. I hear a roar and a loud thump, and my heart goes out to my Chocolate-Bear, who I can hear banging with his shoulder against the glass window. I open my eyes again. Perry says nothing, just stares blankly at Turk, shaking his head slowly. My cheeks are wet, and I try to remember when I began to cry.

Eventually, Turk gives up and leaves.

There is a small, plastic chair in the corner of the room, looking solitary and sad amongst all the loud bleeps of the machines. He sits on it, watching me. I look back at him. He breathes heavily, rests his hands on the back of his head and stares up at the ceiling. The constant hum and buzz of the monitors makes my head throb.

"Per…" I whisper through the oxygen mask. I sound a little like Darth Vader. He looks back at me. His eyes are damp and foggy. It scares me. Because Perry Ulysses Cox _doesn't_ cry.

"What's that there, Newbie?" he says softly.

"This is just us, right? You won't let anyone else in?" I say. A thick cough bubbles in my throat, but I keep it down.

He smiles.

"Just us, Newbie. I promise"

And with his promise ringing in my ears, I let the long black cloud come down, and I embrace the sleep it brings.


	8. My Air Traffic: JD

**Note-OMG, final chapter! Thanks to all my amazing, lovely reviewers who have loyally seen me through this story, and thank you to Bill Gates for inventing Microsoft and Spellcheck. Quick reminder: I know nothing about JD's illness than what I can find on the internet, so most of it is improvised, and don't hate me for it. Please read the following A/N; it's important! Warning: even more immense fluff than last time. Yes, it is apparently possible.**

**Song-Air Traffic Control, by Louis XIV. Yep, I know I've used them before, but they are that good! I really recommend this song especially.**

The monitors are still beeping when I wake up. The room is glazed in shadow from the settling night. My chest is like a straightjacket on my broken lungs, and oxygen presses against my face from the mask, flooding my face. I have no trouble remembering where I am, or anything that happened beforehand. Slowly, trying not to disturb anything, I sit up, and take the mask off my face. He sits there, his face halved perfectly by shadow, highlighting his features. He looks like a different man; weary and tired. He looks older. He smiles softly, the fatigue written into every crease it creates.

"Hey" he mutters. The sound echoes around the room.

"Hey" I reply. My voice splinters. "How long was I out?"

"I don't know" he says, shaking his head. "I gave up trying to keep up after a while"

"Were you in here the whole time?"

He nods, almost apologetically. "I couldn't just leave you. I didn't sleep either. Imagine if I woke up and you weren't…" he trails off. I laugh slightly.

"Now who's being the girl?"

He laughs quietly as well. It seems like an old, inside joke from ages ago, girl's names. Ask me a year ago, and I'd say that was the one part that would never change.

"Your posse were here for a while, trying to get in. I think they're in the doctor's lounge now. Carla brought me coffee at one point" he mumbles, looking at the ceiling, as if he can see them through it. I nod slowly. He continues:

"I'm sorry I couldn't take you to St. Peregrine's. I freaked. I don't trust you with those doctors…"

I cut him off. "It's ok. I think I prefer being here, anyway"

Silence falls as we look at each other. I hear, far away, the slight tapping of rain on a window, like a distant memory.

"Do you remember when I met you?" he whispers, his voice as soft as an ashen breeze.

"Clear as yesterday. How could I forget? Why?"

He sighs.

"I don't know. I just keep thinking about it…you were so young; high-up on your new job…now, you're just sort of…falling, like a leaf from a tree"

I nod. "Every time the world goes round"

Then there is pure, perfect silence. I stare at him, studying his face. He looks different. He looks calmer than I've ever seen him before. Then he suddenly gets up, as if he's remembered something important, anxiety etched like age into his face. This strikes me as odd. Perry Cox, anxious? That can't be right.

"Where are you going?" I ask quickly, barely concealing the panic in my voice.

"Carla, Elliot, Turk…" he says. My eyes widen at the use of their real names. "I promise I'd get them when you woke up"

"Don't go!" I cry out, as he lays his hand on the door handle. He stops, stiffens. "Please. I need you here"

He pauses for a moment, contemplating. Then he releases his grip on the door, and sits back down on the small chair.

"You're right" he murmurs, fumbling around in his pocket. "I'd never forgive myself. I'll page them instead"

"You don't have to do that" I smile. He looks at me, confused. "I don't need people clustering around me. I want to go peacefully, not surrounded by crying and yelling"

His hard face softens, and he smiles, pretending to mock me.

"You're kidding, right? I'd have thought you always wanted the big party. What, no Appletini bar and gospel choir singing about you being a player?"

I laugh, shaking my head. "God no. I'm saving that for the funeral!"

Quietly, amongst the fractures beeps of the machines, we laugh together, the sound filling every lonely crack of my being. For the first time together, I feel completely safe, even though I know I'm not.

"Speaking of the funeral, what happened to that will I wrote?" I ask nonchalantly.

"What, that piece of crap?" he says, a bit of familiar sarcasm passing through his voice. "That's not what you really think of me, is it?"

"Admittedly my views have changed a little recently" I shrug. "Why, what were you hoping to get?"

He grins sadly, flashing stainless white teeth. "Nothing. I don't need anything"

Silence falls again. Once upon a time there was a man who wanted everything, and the only thing he wanted he didn't know he wanted. When everything was taken away from him, he realized that everything meant nothing, and that the thing he didn't know he wanted was the only thing he needed.

Once upon a time, there was a man who died, and the world went on without him.

"What if things had been different?" I ask.

"How so?"

What if you'd never come back? What if I'd never told you? What if I'd never been ill?

"I don't know"

What if the butterfly had landed somewhere else? Then where would we be right now?

"What do you think death is like?"

My unexpected question stiffens his face. "I honestly couldn't tell you, Newbie"

"Me neither. I mean, you'd think that getting closer would help you understand, but it really doesn't. I guess I just hope it's quick. Quick, and easy, and painless"

"And then what after that?" he asks, as if looking for reassurance.

I take in a long, shuddering breath as I consider my answer. "I don't know. I like the idea of reincarnation…but, right now, I'm hoping for big fluffy clouds and bright lights. You know…Seattle…"

He laughs slightly at the memory. I laugh inwardly at my own. See you at the milkshake pool on the lesbian cloud, Turk.

"I dunno. I guess when your life's on the line, you have to grab hold of whatever little bit of hope you possibly can. Otherwise you might just waste away"

I realize I'm saying that line out load. Usually, I'd be saying it in my head, along with a corny daydream. I look towards him, searching for confusion, or anxiety, or even scorn in his face. But instead, it's a picture of clear, pure understanding.

"What do you think heaven is like?" he asks.

"Personally, I don't care, as long as it's happy"

That's a lie. I hope heaven is a few weeks ago. I hope heaven is Perry Cox, washing my hair in a perfect act of selflessness. That moment when I was filled with a full, ideal happiness. That's what I hope heaven is.

Then he says something I didn't expect in a million years.

"Reckon I'll get in, Newbie?"

I smile. I don't even need to think about the answer. It comes immediately.

"Definitely"

I wake up in blackness. The blanket is smothering me, and panic sets in, choking me, squeezing at my chest. I cry out, but the noise is strangled and quiet.

"Per-Perry…" I squeak. The darkness is compressing. I look over to the chair, and I can't see it for shadow. I can't see anything. God, is this it? This can't be it…

"JD?" comes a voice from the shadow. Then a blazing light is switched on, and he is standing by the door, terror penciled on his face. I breathe heavily in relief.

"You're still here…thank God…" I whisper. He rests his hand over his chest.

"I thought something had happened" he breathes.

"What happened?"

"You passed out while we were talking. You've been asleep"

"How long?"

"About eight hours"

"_Eight hours_?" I say in disbelief. Unfortunately, that sparks a cough. He stands by patiently until I've finished before he answers.

"Yeah. Your fan club went home, but some keep trying to get in here to gawk at you. I went to get coffee at one point and when I got back there were some interns surrounding you, gossiping"

"I bet you handed their asses to them" I smile.

"You bet I did"

My chest hurts. My head hurts. My bones hurt. It'll be over soon. I can tell. I think he can too. Is that a glimmer of sadness in his eye?

"Newbie?"

"Yeah?"

"Will we be ok?"

I smile. "Sure we will. Don't worry. It takes more than a terminal illness to finish off John D-"

Then the coughing starts again. The surviving colour in the room swirls in a huge whirlpool, and I fall back onto the mattress. I feel dizzy. I'm suffocating. I feel blood rising in my throat, can taste it in my mouth. Then another oxygen mask is pressed to my face, and suddenly I'm surrounded by doctors, yelling. They compress around me, until he is blocked from my view.

"Per…" I try to desperately call out, but it comes out as a strangled murmur, thick with the blood in my throat. "Per…ry…"

"I'm right here, Newbie" comes a voice by my ear. He pushes his way through the crowd until he is by my side, and lays a cool hand on my forehead. All these voice, buzzing almost as electrically as the machines, means I can barely hear anything.

"…Running out of oxygen!" someone yells, and the words cut through me. Oxygen. The fuel of my body is running low. Suddenly, I'm scared. I don't want to die.

"Perry…" I call out, but someone pushes in front of him, and he's gone from my view. I try to relax, but all the voice are cutting in, breaking up my thoughts. I can't hear you, Perry, can you see me? Can you? My vision's clouding over. Where…where did the lights go? Wait, Perry, wait for me! I'll come through, Perry, I promise. I'm coming in…I'm coming in…Perry…

"JD!"


	9. AN

**Author's Note**

**Right! There's "My Car Chase" ended. I have to tell you, that last chapter was so hard for me to right. But I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. But, because I'm so nice, I promise you a 5-part sequel. I'm not going to give too much away, but it's Perry's point of view following the aftermath of JD's death. To save space, I'm gonna continue it on this same story, after this A/N. Anyway, I'll see you at the sequel. Thanks to all my readers and reviewers. You made me very happy.**

**-She'sAManiac**


	10. My Denial: Perry

**Note-And so it begins, the first chapter of my sequel! Now, I know it's kinda been done before, but when I thought of it, it was still fresh, so please forgive me! And forgive me for the long update. I have approximately five stories on the go. Thanks to all my lovely readers and reviewers. Sorry if Cox is a little OOC in this chapter. It was very hard to write him confused. And…we're live!**

**Song-Long And Winding Road by The Beatles. **

Murphy lays a blanket over his head as he wheels the gurney out of the room. I sit there, blankly, staring at the spot. He was there a minute ago…he was. Where did he go? The plastic chair is too small, and my ass is going numb. My hands grab at my curls, and my shoulders tense. A steady hand is placed on my shaking back, and I jump. Her face is calm and collected. How can she be? Doesn't she know what just happened?

"Carla…"

"Are you ok?" she asks, full of motherly concern.

"What happened?" I ask. "Where did he go?"

"Perry?" she asks, her voice seeping through every atom in the room. "I…I…"

She trails off, and breathes slowly. Sunlight seeps into the room through a crack in the curtains, casting a knife-like shape on the floor. He can't be gone. He was here a minute ago, telling me I was going to get into heaven. Doctors surrounding him: Beardface, Mickhead, Slawski…and me, yelling at them to get away from him, don't they know this isn't what he wants, and he was calling out for me. I see the shadows of all these people in front of me, clear as if they were real.

"Perry?"

I jump up, startling Carla as I do so. I can't be here. I just can't. I take off through the door, Carla yelling after me, and make for the exit. People pass as I walk, whispering as I walk. I make for the exit, and then a whirl of blonde hair and tear-streaked mascara blocks me. Her face is blotchy, her hair messy and her eyes swollen for tears and a late night in the doctor's lounge, waiting and wondering. I wonder if anyone's ever told her she's ugly when she cries.

"D-Dr Cox…" she stutters. For a moment she looks lost, and then she remembers something, and her eyes flash with white-hot rage. She raises her hand, and slaps me across the face. I feel pain momentarily, but then it sinks into my cheek. I can't muster any anger. My heart is numb.

"Why didn't you tell us, jackass?" she hisses shakily, and stalks off. The hallway is silent. I press a hand to my cheek, shocked. Then I take a deep breath, and walk on, out of the hospital, and away from the staring faces that inhabit it. The pavement is specked with dark grey spots from last night's rain. Maybe it's just what happened reflecting on everything I do or say, but they look like teardrops.

I walk. The pavements seem to stretch on forever, twisting and turning. I almost keep bumping into people, and with my current appearance, people are probably mistaking me for a drunk. He can't be dead. Not him. He's far too alive to die. This is all a dream. I've fallen asleep, and I'm gonna wake up and everything'll be good again. Yeah, that's right. Of course he isn't dead. Not my Newbie. Not him. Not him. Not him.

A mother sharply pulls her child from my path, giving me a disgusted look. It's only then I realize that I've been speaking out loud, muttering those two words over and over, like some sort of crazy-person's mantra.

"Sorry…" I mutter, attempting a side-step, but she blocks me.

"Perry?"

I take a good look at the mother, and then the child.

"Jordan…"

"Where the hell were you?" my ex-wife says. "I called you like five times, and you weren't at the apartment!"

I look at her, her sharp, botox-ed face, her flowing coppery hair. Jack clings onto her leg, looking as if he's forgotten who I am. Jennifer is clamped firmly to her chest, sleeping against her shoulder contentedly. I blink.

"Perry? Perry!" she snaps angrily. I shake my head.

"I…gotta go…" I mutter, and push past her. She yells my name behind me, her voice enwrapped in a blanket of fury. I continue on my way down the street. Eventually, I get back to the apartment. I start to run, in panic, up the stairs. It's like some force is pulling me, leading me towards the door. I hastily ram the key in the lock, and throw the door open. A smile stretches across my face.

"Thank God you're here"

He smiles at me gently. "Of course I am, Per. Where else would I be?"

He's sitting on the couch, waiting for me. I shut the door and sit down next to him.

"I knew they were lying. I knew you couldn't be…"

He reaches up, and touches the red mark on my left cheek. His fingertips are cool and soft. I wince, and he frowns, a speck of anger in his blue eyes.

"Who did this?" he says quietly.

"Elliot…"

"I'm sorry" he mumbles simply. "She shouldn't have. That wasn't right"

I shake my head, and his hand drops. "It's ok. She was confused. So was I. But…I mean, I knew you couldn't be…I mean this is…"

I trail off, and he nods understandingly.

"Don't worry. This…" he gesticulates to us with his hands. They move freely, fluidly, like small birds. "Is gonna last forever"

"Ya girl…" I say. He laughs. I laugh. In a small, empty apartment, we sit and laugh, for the past, present, and the future that never was.

"You're right, Perry. I am a girl" he says, in a voice of goofy sincerity, and a calmly mocking smile playing on his lips. "But at now I'm here, right?"

"Yeah" I mutter. I look at his face. He looks better than I've ever seen him. Colour in his face, his eyes sparkling blue. He looks as if he's never even been ill.

"I'm glad" I continue. "Because, when I thought you were gone…I mean, I couldn't take that. I knew there was a mistake, though. You were always gonna get better again, weren't you"

He sighs, and looks down at the floor. Is that a sign of sadness? No, it can't be. How can he be sad when everything's alright again? He looks back up at me.

"You'll be ok, you know" he mutters. The words fall like honey from his lips; heavy, sticky, falling to the floor one by golden one.

"What?"

His sparkling eyes suddenly look sharper, more scrutinizing.

"Nothing, Per"

Then the moment passes, and he's back to himself again. He beams in my direction. I roll my eyes, trying to keep my dignity by not smiling back. I fail.

"Is your cheek still hurting?" he asks. Automatically, I reach up and touch it, and it stings. I wince, and he nods.

"Go and put some antiseptic on it" he says. Grudgingly, I stand up, and walk into his bathroom. His medicine cabinet is full of half-full pill jars. I rub the stuff on my face, gasping at the momentary shock of the smart. Barbie sure knew how to use her nails. Then something catches my eye. I bend down and pick it up. It's his favourite shirt, thrown carelessly over the side of the tub. I grin, and turn.

"See? If you were really gone, you'd have never left this shirt behi-"

I stop, staring at the couch, where my Newbie has vanished.

Tears hit the back of my eyes.

He's really gone.

I stand in the middle of his empty apartment, holding his shirt, and I feel like gagging.

I drop the shirt where I stand, letting it clumsily fall to the floor. I walk into his kitchen, and open the fridge; pulling out the bottle of Scotch he unwillingly bought for me two…three? weeks ago.

I pour a glass and down it, feeling the familiar, comforting whack of hard alcohol explode in my throat. Then I down another. How many roads must a man walk down before you can call him a man? How many alcoholic drinks must one man down before he realizes that his conscience has been lying to him, and that someone he cared for deeply is dead? How many times must I go through this?

Then, his phone rings. The sound reverberates harshly around the apartment, hitting the walls and subsiding, before repeating itself again. I let it ring seven times before I hear the answer phone click and the mechanical voice starts.

"Dr Cox?"

I freeze.

"_It's Dr Hedrick. I've been tipped off that you might be here. I heard about the recent loss of Dr Dorian…terrible, terrible tragedy…_"

I snarl. How dare he have the right to call here and call JD's death a tragedy?

"_Anyway, I was just wondering if you needed to talk to anybody. I have a bereavement session in the hospital on Thursday's at four, uh, if you're interested. You may be experiencing what we call the five stages of grief…_"

Do you think I don't know that, jackass?

"…_starting with denial…_"

Shut up, shut up, shut up!

"_So if you're interested, please, give me a call. Again, I'm very sorry for your loss_"

No you aren't. You're being paid to be.

"_Dr Dorian was, uh…a wonderful man, and I know you two were very close…So if you need someone to talk you, you have my number. Um…bye_"

The phone clicks again.

I go into the kitchen, and down another scotch. Then I walk into his bedroom, and lie in his bed. My eyes leak onto his pillows.

He's really gone.

He's become past tense.

My Newbie, my JD.

Somehow, I don't think I'm going to get over this quickly.


	11. My Anger: Perry

**Note-I am so sorry. My computer has decided that it doesn't like the internet, at all. Every time I turn it on, it crashes. No idea why. My apologies. Also, I've just realized how long it's taken me to write this (almost half a year!), so my new aim is to finish by some point in June. Wish me luck!**

**Song-Paint It Black, by the Rolling Stones. (Beatles and Stones, I am on a roll (no pun intended))**

I lie in JD's bed for seven days, exactly a week, clinging onto every last little bit of him I possibly can. On the eighth day, when the bed stops smelling like him and begins to smell like me, I get up.

I get dressed, and take a shower. I look bedraggled and sleepless, with huge purple bags under my eyes, and the beginnings stubble clumped around my chin. I look terrible. Nevertheless, I pull on a heavy grey jumper and a pair of faded jeans that, because I have none of my own, I borrowed from his closet. I look at myself in the mirror. I always got the impression that he was smaller than me, but really we're roughly the same height. Maybe he always seemed smaller because he didn't feel the need to take up space. That was his personality, I guess.

Then, I take a deep breath, and go to work.

As soon as I step through the door, I realize I've made a mistake in coming. As soon as I place a foot inside the hospital, the reception goes quiet. The nurses, decked in their floral Scrubs, stare at me with pity in their eyes. I growl quietly, and turn away to avoid lashing out at any of them. I don't want their goddam pity. They can take their pity and shove it up their…

"Good morning, Perry" comes a quiet voice from behind. I turn around.

"Whaddya want, Beelezbob?" I snap. He looks sad, but I can tell it's just a mask. He doesn't care. He never cared about anyone.

"I just wanted to know…how you're doing?" he says seriously. I've never wanted to punch him more in my entire life. But I put on a fake grin.

"I don't know what you're talking about there"

"Dr Dorian's death has affected all of us…" he begins. I interrupt.

"I'm holding up just fine there, Bobcat. Now if you don't mind, I'm not breaking my game" I say, and push past him to get down the hall. As I pass, people's conversations are hushed as they look at me. I growl, and just walk faster until I get to the Nurse's station. Carla is, surprisingly, running around, handing out charts and filing papers like nobody's business. Another nurse whispers something to her, and she looks up at me.

"Dr Cox…"

"Carla" I acknowledge, grabbing as many charts as I can carry in one hand. I'm about to head off before she stops me.

"Wait, Dr Cox!"

I turn around. She smiles, nervously.

"How are you?" she says in a voice so quietly it's almost a whisper.

"Fine, Carla. I'm fine. You?"

"I had to get back here. I couldn't stand being in that apartment with Turk…I mean, I love him and all, but I just couldn't…I mean he was my friend too…"

"Fantastic. Anything else I care about?"

She looks stunned.

"What? D-Don't tell me you're not affected. Y-You…you sat with him for almost twenty four hours…"

"Is there anything else I care about?" I say slowly, emphasizing each word. She swallows. Then she points to the chart on the top of my stack.

"Mr. Bynoe died three hours ago"

Then she turns and walks away. So do I.

The next seven hours are taken up with almost every patient I can get my hands on. Right now, seven seems significant. Seven days I spent at his before today. Seven weeks I spent knowing he was ill. Seven days it took for me to go back to him. Seven minutes it took to get him to the hospital. Seven seconds it took for him to stop breathing. One millisecond it took for him to die.

Each patient I tackle face-on, with all the strength and force I can possible muster. During the seven hours, two patients die, and one is discharged. I do everything possible not to have to go back into that room. It seems that every time I turn around; Kelso is there, watching my every move, looking sorry for me. I just snarl, and look away again, but wherever I look, it seems like someone is watching me.

Then, when I read the man's illness on my last chart, I growl, break the board in half, and hand the pieces to the nearest baffled intern. Then I walk down to the labs to see if Franklyn's in. I need to smash something. I do. I go to town on the whole room. The tech doesn't say anything. That in itself isn't normal. He usually is silenced by fear. But today, he just stands, amongst the chaos of his room, and regards me through his specs with the same sorrowful pity that everyone else does. Then, when I'm done, he just silently, sadly, begins to pick up the pieces. So I leave.

I just decide to walk. To walk through the hospital, around and around, familiarizing myself with everything again. I feel as if I've been away for years. It feels like an old friend turned stranger with age. I run my hands across the coarse walls, feeling all the cracks in the paint. I pass the room, and my stomach turns. We met there. What were my first words to him? Something about Eisenhower being a sissy? Then, his chin was still a separate part of his face, and his face was so alert, so defined. He just looked so…juvenile, so arrogant, so sure of himself He was young then. He still was a few weeks ago. Too young to die. Far too young to die.

Why in God's name didn't I foresee it?

I feel a rush of anger towards myself. Why the hell didn't I do anything? I could've got him a transplant; I could've referred him to a hospital. I yell out, and hit at a wall, causing the people around me to jump and shoot me querying looks. He's gone. And now he won't even be here when I wake up anymore. His eyes…like green and blue seas. It's not easy to face up to anything. Maybe I can just fade away, and not have to face up to any of this shit.

I turn a corner, and almost walk into someone. I look up. The Janitor is standing there, pasting a notice up on the wall. He turns, and offers me a cheerful smile.

"Hello, Angry Doctor" he grins.

"Lurch" I say through gritted teeth. It's only then I look up at the piece of paper he's tacking to the wall, and more importantly, the picture on it. My heart stops, and the world turns cold.

"Sasha?" I say. The blue scooter blares out at me against the white poster. Above it are the printed words: _For sale - £100 dollars. Apply to Dr. Jan Itor._

"What's this?" I ask quietly. My heart is pounding wildly in my chest.

"Oh, I found Scooter's scooter by the parking lot. Thought I'd make a bit of money out of it. Why, you interested?" he says, grinning. There is an evil glint in his eye.

I don't even remember the first punch. All I know is that, suddenly, he is on the floor with blood pouring from his nose. Then I let rip, punching him over and over. Screaming, too. I probably don't even make any sense.

"You bastard…you knew…wanted one last laugh, did you…did you?"

He cries out, trying desperately to push my hands away, but they are clenched around his scrawny neck and I'm shaking him.

"You couldn't even respect him, now…you goddamn bastard! I'll kill you! I swear to God _I'll kill you_!"

Then I hear someone else behind me, crying out through the roar in my ears, and then I feel hands tearing at my back, trying to pry me from the writhing, bloodied body.

"Perry! Stop it! Stop it! Perry, he doesn't know, he doesn't know! Stop it!"

Then arms are around my arms, hauling me away, and Carla is crying, and the Janitor is looking up at me, battered and bruised, shouting "This guy's crazy!" and everyone is yelling and bellowing like a pack of bulls. I pull away and storm down the corridor, throwing open the glass doors, and away outside.

The air is sweet and cool. I lean against the metal railings, and put my hands in my hair.

"Why the hell did you even come back here?"

I turn around.

"You know, you're the most insensitive jackass here!" she says, tears streaming like rivers from her eyes. "We are all trying so hard, and you…you couldn't even control yourself for one day, could you?"

"He was going to sell Sasha" I mumble, and turn away from the nurse. "He wasn't even trying to get a good price from it"

"He didn't know, Perry! He thought he was away in Ohio, like we all did!"

I breathe silently.

"So don't you dare try to dump this on other people" she says through her tears. "I have a husband at home who isn't talking to anyone, but I still have to come here to look after my daughter who isn't going to grow up competing with Him for her daddy's love! I have a best friend who isn't functioning properly, so I have to go round there constantly to make sure she's ok! I have a whole hospital gossiping! And now I have you!"

I turn and face her. I stare at the distraught in her eyes.

"It's this place, Carla. Everything here…it just keeps on reminding me of him"

"What? You think I don't know that? I'm struggling too, Perry, it's not just you! He was my friend too. And now you're going to be suspended, because while everyone else keeps pushing on, you have to go around beating up the Janitor, you egotistical jackass!"

She takes a step forwards and pushes me, lightly, but enough for me to wobble. Then she turns and stalks back inside, weeping. There are the sounds that stay with you forever. The exact tone of someone's voice as they tell you your best friend has died. The high-pitched wail of a flatline telling you that someone you care for has died. And now, the distressed cries of a friend as she tells you that she too, in a completely different way and context, is dying.

After seconds, minutes, hours leaning on the railings, I go inside.

The Doctor's lounge is empty, save for an intern who scatters as I enter, leaving behind a flurry of paperwork. I take a seat on one of the couches. My knuckles sting. I look down at them, to see that they are scraped and bleeding. I didn't even notice.

I lie down on the squashy leather, and close my eyes to stop them leaking.


	12. My Depression: Perry

**Note-Thanks to all you lovely people who reviewed, but thanks in particular to **Joanna Hepler**, who really helped me to make sure my plotline wasn't done to death. People, I do appreciate criticism (and I hope not to be bombarded now I've said that). Sorry it took so long, again, but I decided that my English coursework was more important.**

**Song-Wake Me Up When September Ends, by Green Day. I'm not a huge fan of the band, but the song is expressive, so hey!**

It's raining. Of course it would be, although it does feel like a bad case of pathetic fallacy. The floor is dotted with small puddles from where various people have come and gone. I don't even know why I'm here. I feel ridiculously out of place amongst the over-dramatic sobs and the pale still-in-denial blanks.

The Janitor is here, in a suit, watching me warily. Carla and Turk are up at the front, clutching onto each other's hands as if it'll kill them to let go. Elliot is weeping into her own hands, looking pale and malnourished. Dan, staring at the ceiling, looking so confused. Kelso, shaking hands somberly with people, probably telling them how much of a credit he was to the hospital. Jordan, clutching my children to her, calmly keeping her distance. Todd, Ted, Doug, Keith, whispering in a little cluster. Kim, clutching a small child who is JD but isn't JD to her chest. Molly Clock, rubbing her hands comfortingly over Elliot's back. Cabbage, holding his cap to his chest nervously. So many people I know but don't know.

"We are gathered here today to remember the life of Doctor John Dorian…"

The Priest's voice echoes around the vast hall. I growl inwardly. Damn it. This isn't what he wanted. He would've wanted people to be remembering him for who he was, not for someone he wasn't. He wasn't a perfect doctor, or a perfect person. He was human. I wonder what he'd be thinking of the whole thing if he was watching.

After the sermon, people speak a little. Well, the ones who are able to. Kim does a little, but breaks down halfway, and Kelso seems to have prepared an entire speech dedicated to pretending to name a ward after him.

When the torture is over, I walk silently over to the coffin, and look down at him. For a moment, my hand reaches out to touch his face, but then I draw it back sharply. He looks so innocent. He's decked out in a suit, his face uncolored, and his hair limp without mousse. It's the first time I've seen him in two weeks.

"Hey Newbie" I mutter, my voice hoarse and charred.

It's only then that I notice the young woman standing next to me, also looking down at the coffin. She briefly looks up at me. Her chestnut hair is tied in a bun, and her eyes are framed with red-rimmed glasses. She starts to speak. I wonder who she's speaking to. Herself? Me? Nobody in particular?

"Never get too mixed up with your patients. That was the first thing they told me. Never let their problems become your problems. Never, ever get too mixed up, because it's not your job to get mixed up. I tried. I mean, I was good at keeping the distance. But I don't know. There was something about him, I guess. I mean, you shouldn't expect people to spill their guts immediately, but he was always so…guarded, as if, if he made the slightest wrong move it was the end of the world for him"

She looks up me, and smiles slightly.

"Sorry" she holds out her hand. "I'm Anna Spencer"

I take her hand. It's warm and slim. "The therapist?"

She nods. "That's me. You are?"

"Perry Cox"

"You're Perry Cox? Wow" she says blankly. "I'm so sorry"

"You know me?"

"Yeah. He talked about you once, briefly, about you being his mentor. I mean, don't take that personally, it was the first real thing he told me after five sessions"

I nod, not sure what to make of this Elliot impersonator. She suddenly seems to register the people beginning to cluster around the cadaver, and she gestured that we move away. And for some reason, I oblige.

"I mean, he never talked, you know" she continues as she slowly walks, gesticulating wildly. "He answered questions with monosyllables, like it was some sort of game that he wanted to win. Was he like that when he was alive?"

She talks about it unashamedly, without pussyfooting around it and that in itself makes me want to talk to her. She must be a damn good shrink.

"I don't know" I say after a long pause. "He was the sort of person who would try to follow you around, blurting out the little things that bugged him. But when his dad died…he was like that. Reserved, shut off"

She nods understandingly. I shake my head.

"Wait…why am I even telling you this?"

She shrugs.

"Maybe you need to talk to someone" she says, and she stops at the open door of the church. She turns to me, and fishes in the pocket of her leather jacket. She pulls out a card, and hands it over.

"I do group sessions on Mondays. Maybe you should come along"

I take the card, and it's only then I realize my hands are shaking. I try to convince myself it's with the cold. Hedrick's voicemail echoes in my ears. This woman who I only just met smiles sadly at me, flicks up an umbrella, and walks away into the rain.

Slowly, the church empties of people, and then only I am left standing in the rain.

I take a few paces, my shoes squishing the mud and the grass of the cemetery as I walk. How many years has it been since I was here? I never went back for Ben. Only once. And that was the day those three patients had died, and I only felt awkward and stupid and self-conscious talking to a slab of rock about it. I just needed a friend that day. I suppose I got one, in the end, even if it was a little late. The rain is warm, surprisingly, although I suppose it is summer. August. I guess I didn't even register.

I stop under a tree that spreads far enough to be able to shelter. This whole thing feels like a sort of soppy book, the kind of crap Barbie would read. But it isn't. It's real, and it's here, now, and I don't think I've ever felt more alive because of it.

"_And you know what? Glare all you want, Big Dog, cause I'm not afraid of you. Oh no! Jordan's only paying attention to the baby! That must be so hard for doctor look at me, isn't it? Look at __me!"_

He wasn't a perfect human being. He laughed, he cried, and just occasionally, because it wasn't in his nature, he got angry. Those were the moments when he felt most solid. Just over seven years, I knew him (seven again), and how many times had I actually seen him properly, full-in-your-face angry? Two, maybe three? And how many times had he seen me rant and scream? If you thought about it, John Dorian, the most feminine man in the whole of America, was way more guarded than Perry Cox, the man with the most reputation to keep.

I look up at the sky. The rain has lessened slightly. I step out from under the tree, and walk again, the rain plastering my hair to my cheeks and seeping through my clothes to my skin.

"_Perry?"_

"_Yeah, Jessica?"_

_He stands in the doorway of his room, regarding me with cool eyes._

"_You know, we're both adults here. You don't think you could possible cut out the girl's names, do you?"_

"_Never in a million years, Rachel"_

I had never seen him directly stand up to me until then.

"_Well, you know what, it's getting kinda old, and I'm getting kinda sick of it"_

He didn't shout, didn't even snap. Just kept his cool. That was the thing about him; he knew when to shout and when to stay quiet. To be perfectly honest, I don't think he even cared that much about the girl's names. He just wanted some sort of control over something, when he didn't have any over his own life. In the end, we barely bothered arguing over it. He just sat down next to me, and said: _"God, we sound like an old married couple, don't we?"_ and laughed.

I don't think I'll ever forget what I lost, ever, not even for a minute. I took too long to realize I even had it.

I randomly yell out, and kick out at a tree. Now, I'm even angry at him. Why the hell did he just have to leave me in this crap? Why didn't he act sooner? And of course, that in turn makes me angry at myself. He didn't leave you in any crap, he had no choice, and he didn't act sooner because you are an arrogant jackass!

I run, the damp ground slapping at my feet, ruining the legs of my pants, beating the Earth in the hope that it'll share my pain. And then I stop at the stone, breathing heavily.

It's a stupid grave. The only words are: John Dorian; slipped away 2009; he will be missed. It sounds like the sort of epitaph that a lonely old lady would have. I stand, and stare at it. I feel eyes on the back of my neck, but I choose to ignore them for the time being. I just stare at the words, imprinted in black against the grey, with water sliding down the sides of the tablet. I run a hand over the top, and then I turn around.

He is just standing there, watching me. The rain runs off the top of his head, and down his face. His shirt, like mine, is soaked through. He is holding something in his hand. It's a scalpel. He clenches it so tight his hands tremble.

"Where did you get that?" I ask him. My voice is strangled, tense.

"I took it from the operating room" he replies solemnly.

"Isn't that a criminal offence of some sort?" I ask casually. He shrugs.

"I honestly couldn't care less"

I nod. He hands the scalpel out to me.

"Do it" he commands quietly. I take the knife, and turn it over in my fingers, looking at the shine, my reflection in the blade, the water running off the sharp edge. Then I bend down, and put it to the tablet. I pause. Then I draw it.

I have no idea how long it takes me, with him watching me all the time. All I know is that when I've finished, the text on the grave now reads: John Dorian (JD); slipped away far too quickly in 2009; he will be missed by everyone who knew him. He was a good man, who could save all lives except his own.

And as we turn and walk away from the cemetery, I swear to God I've never felt closer to Chris Turk than I just did.


	13. AN II

**Author's Note**

**I am so sorry. Really I am. I feel I owe you lovely readers all an explanation for not uploading as much as I should. So, here goes:**

**Recently, I have seriously lost interest in writing this story. I feel that 12 chapters of the same thing is too much, and is probably getting as dull for you as it is for me. I have also been very sidetracked by other fandoms, and stories of my own. I have even started to loose interest in writing for (not watching) Scrubs. **

**I will try to write more of this when I feel inspired for it again, but right now consider this story on Hiatus. Again, I'm really sorry.**

**If you wish to read some of my expanding stories, please feel free to visit my new account: Chalcedony Rivers.**

**In the meantime I am unchangingly and most fondly yours (quote): **

**-She'sAManiac**


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